


Shaking Hands With the Dark Parts Of My Thoughts

by TommysIdiosyncrasy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Child Abuse, Harry has mild anxiety, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hurt Harry, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Harry Potter, Kinda, M/M, all of the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TommysIdiosyncrasy/pseuds/TommysIdiosyncrasy
Summary: Harry has a hard time getting out of his own head. A certain blond Slytherin unexpecantly helps him





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU where Harry is never moved out of his cupboard at the Dursley’s house

Quiet was a fleeting thing. 

Soft and hesitant, sometimes it took hours or even days for it to settle. A butterfly's touch against a flower petal, the spell it provides can be just as easily be broken as that butterfly can be frightened off.  

In Hogwarts, quiet was practically nonexistent unless you were awake past ten in the evening. Like a certain Harry Potter was.  

For once, he wasn't roaming the halls cloaked in the shadows. He was simply sitting awake in front of the smoldering fire, the gentle pops and the silence hanging in the common room were the ideal reading conditions. Before this year, he'd loathed the idea of staying up late to read. Instead, he'd stuff himself with the usual delicious dinner selections and stumble up to bed like all of his peers. Now, he'd taken a habit to reading until he passed out. 

Eyes itching lightly, Harry gently turned the page.  

Maybe it was Hermione's influence on him, or maybe it was just the simple fact that he was having a hard time naturally falling asleep, but his nights were spent in his favorite chair rather in his comfy bed upstairs. He realized that reading wasn't boring, he just hadn't given it the time of day earlier. It was rather nice to curl up in front of the warm fire and lose himself in someone else's problems.  

He paid no mind to the rumble of his stomach as his fingers cradled the soft leather cover. 

Harry knew he had classes the next day, he also knew that if he went to bed at that moment he'd be up past midnight anyways. The visions flashing behind his eyelids were less than peaceful, often finding himself waking in a cold sweat. He wasn't immune to Ron's questioning gaze and Dean's odd looks thrown his way as he told them to go to dinner without him, both knowing he most likely wouldn't catch up. Harry was also aware of Hermione's concern, she had hesitantly broached the subject twice before she let it drop. Most of the time, she mostly got one or two words as Harry remained buried in a book. 

His face felt rather numb as his legs gently shook, head filled with the words on the page.  

On more than one occasion, one of his classmates ended up shaking him awake in the mornings since it was almost time for class. He was lucky he didn't change into his sleeping things before an intense reading session, only rushing to hastily brush his teeth and snag his bag. Harry could pay attention in class and his grades had benefited from this recent change in behavior, so he found no reason to put an end to what he was doing. He could tell by the looks Hermione and Ron shared, they both thought he was sneaking in and out of the portrait hole to explore the empty school at night. He knew any protest from him wouldn't convince them, so he kept quiet. Now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time he'd spoken to someone with something more than a fleeting answer.  

Hands loose and head dipping to his chest, the book tumbled from his grasp as exhaustion claimed the Gryffindor.  

He never realized it, but Aunt Petunia's sappy novels weren't all that bad. More than once, Harry snuck one of them into his cupboard and ended up spending significant amounts of time in there that _wasn't_ from a punishment. He knew that his Aunt and Uncle were suspicious of what he was getting up to in there, but they never said anything about it. In fact, they seemed rather relieved whenever Harry quietly excused himself to his cupboard. It wasn't a big deal, being shoved in there after accidentally breaking a dish while doing the dishes or slightly burning Uncle Vernon's bacon in the morning. He had a small stack of library books he'd rented without his relative's knowledge stashed away underneath a loose floorboard beneath his tiny bed.  

"Honestly, Mione, he's even worse than _you_. Can't remember the last time I saw him asleep in the dorms." Ron muttered to Hermione, unaware that Harry could hear them.  

The hours spent with a book in the near darkness hadn't helped Harry's eyesight at all. Sometimes, he'd find himself squinting down at his homework as he tried to decipher what was written. He was too ashamed to go to either of his best friends for help as his sight worsened, his only light a tiny flashlight he'd bought with the meager savings he'd saved. He had always held onto the hope of buying a plane ticket and flying far, far away, but those were dreams of a child. Instead, Harry tried to find some sort of daily escape or comforter as life with the Dursleys became more and more unbearable.  

The figure sitting in front of Harry wasn't real. He shook his head and brought his eyes back down the page in his hand, tilting the book towards the fire to get better light. The figure shifted closer as if they wanted to read along with him.  

There wasn't much Harry could do about this, it was already a habit. He became restless and increasingly aware of the thoughts biting at the back of his heels every time he tried to lay down and get the proper amount of rest. If Harry was being honest with himself, it wasn't just the fun stories he was reading that made him so keen on reading so much, it was more of the distraction they brought that he loved so much. When he read, he could push all of his own stress away and drop down into a compelling plot that he'd stay up until two in the morning to finish.  

"Harry?" Hermione hesitantly asked. "when was the last time you slept?"  

"This morning, Hermione." Harry replied distractedly, focused on his Potions essay. She nodded, slowly backing away from the ragged looking boy.  

It wasn't until he collapsed in the middle of the hallway that Harry realized that he had not, in fact, slept that morning. Or the one before that.  

~ 

To put it frankly, life had become rather boring for Draco Malfoy.  

He often found his daily entertainment from the casual torment of the dorks in red. His favorite target, one Harry Potter, had recently become unresponsive.  

The boy was often missing from meals and seen walking down the halls with his arms wrapped around two or three books. His performance in classes had risen while his voice had lowered dramatically. Malfoy hadn't heard the other speak in over a month. It didn't bother him that Saint Potter suddenly found his own studies for more important than his own petty jabs or the fact that he didn't seem to register on the Gryffindor's radar anymore. No, that didn't bother him at all. What got to him was when he called after him, trying to goad him into some playful house rivalry and he strode right past him without batting an eye.  

Huffing, he fought off the color rising in his cheeks at another failed attempt at grabbing the other's attention. He wasn't sulking over the fact that Potter was too good to even _think_ about descending to Malfoy's level, he wasn't sulking at all! He was frustrated and annoyed that Potty had been ignoring him oh so rudely.  

Snarking and growling about it seemed to make the other Slytherins roll their eyes instead of agreeing with him and telling him he wasn't the only one that wanted to know about what'd changed with the Golden Boy. Sniffing, he told himself he was trying to get dirt on the other and he was curious, nothing more, as he trailed silently after Potter. He was alone, which was reoccurring more often. Maye he'd finally gotten sick of his entourage of adoring fans.  

Peering down the hall, he watched as the brunette stumbled down the empty hall. Frowning, he wondered why the boy was walking like a drunk when he suddenly tipped forwards. Eyes widening, Malfoy heard a thud and saw papers fly everywhere. Textbooks and reading books slid onto the dusty floor and Potter slumped, unconscious, onto the ground besides them.  

Stunned and uncertain on how to continue, Malfoy stood there for a long moment. Finally gathering some courage, he approached the mess and looked down at his supposed arch-nemesis. Peering down, he noticed the dark bags under the smaller boy's eyes and the glass smushed against the stones beneath him in a way that could have been endearing if the boy hadn't just collapsed and Malfoy's heart wasn't beating so swiftly. 

Shaking his head, Malfoy turned and started to speed walk the other way with a flick of his wrist, papers sliding neatly back into the boy's bag. 

A few minutes later, Madam Pomfrey was leaning over Potter and muttering to herself. Feeling awkward and out of place, Malfoy started to back away when he saw a magical stretcher pull Potter's limp body up and onto itself.

"Thank you, Mister Malfoy." She said, straightening. "Mister Potter is in good hands now." He gave her a stiff nod before striding off. 

It was odd how at that moment, his first instinct was to get help for the Gryffindor instead of turning a blind eye and walking away like he'd never seen anything. Emotions caught in his throat for a moment and an unbidden thought crossed into his head. Refusing to blush, he put on his most neutral expression and confidently made his way back to his own common room. 

~

Harry snuffled quietly and rolled over in bed, body feeling comfortably heavy. He wanted to sleep just for a little longer...

Suddenly, his eyes snapped open and he frowned up at the high ceiling. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten in the infirmary, he was just heading up to the library and then he was here. Rubbing one of his eyes with the back of his hand, he sat up and gazed around the empty room.

"You should still be asleep." Jumping slightly, harry turned to see Madam Pomfrey bustling towards him with a disapproving look. "You're a rather stubborn one, aren't you?" Blinking, Harry tilted his head to the side. 

"What do you mean?" He asked after a moment. 

"You woke up two hours ago and I practically had to wrestle a Dreamless Sleep Potion down your throat." Flushing slightly, Harry ducked his head. She sniffed while casting a spell or two his way. "You passed from exhaustion and the fact that you've lost some serious weight in a short amount of time." For the first time, harry gazed down at himself and saw that he had indeed lost some weight. That wasn't _entirely_ his fault. The Dursleys had started forcing him back during the holidays because Aunt Petunia needed his help cleaning. And by help he meant forcing him to do all the difficult jobs like cleaning the roof gutters or squeezing behind the fridge to scrub the hard spots. So, just like with every stay at the Dursleys, he wasn't permitted meals until all his chores were done. If you could even call a slice of bread and cheese a meal. 

Swallowing, Harry knew he couldn't tell Madam Pomfrey that. She'd go to Dumbledore and Harry really didn't want to burden the headmaster any more than he already was. He could handle it, he'd _been_ handling it for the past eleven years before he starts leaving for Hogwarts. So, Harry put up no fuss when the Medi-Witch preformed a few tests and sent him back to sleep with another potion. 

"In light of these events," Madam Pomfrey said as Harry was drifting off. "We'll be assigning you residents with another student to make sure you're taking care of yourself. 

Harry was too far gone to protest. 

~

This wasn't what Harry was expecting at all. If you could say he truly expected anything in the first place. Just a vague sense of dread and embarrassment followed him as he was led by a Patronus up to the Seventh Floor. They stopped in front of the Room of Requirements and Harry blinked, surprised. He didn't think any teachers knew where The Place Where Everything is Hidden was. He gazed up at the bird leading him, then eyes widened when he realized that it was the perfect likeliness of Fawkes the phoenix. He was surprised it took him to long to realize. The elegant bird winked at him once before disappearing. 

A door appeared in front of Harry, the wood a beautiful mahogany. Cautiously, he peered inside to see a nice apartment. Slowly he stepped inside and closed the door behind him, the quiet inside instantly putting him at ease. The Room of Requirements had become and pretty apartment with a kitchen, bathroom, and two bedrooms. Clenching his fingers tightly together once, he approached the second closed door and softly knocked. 

Draco Malfoy opened the door. 

Eyes widening, Harry stared up at the Slytherin as he gazed impassively down at him. Clearing his throat, Harry looked down awkwardly. "Malfoy." He greeted politely. 

"Potter." The other replied, voice civil. "Before you asked, I didn't agree to this." Scratching the back of his neck, Harry avoided looking at the other. If he was being honest, he didn't like fighting with the blond. The teasing and jabs were kinda entertaining but getting mad at each other and throwing spells didn't appeal to him. 

"I didn't know it'd be you." Was the only thing he could say, voice small. 

"As it is, I don't think there's any way around this." Malfoy sniffed, turning and waking back into his room. The door closed behind him with a definite click. 

Harry flinched as if the door had been slammed. The moment of almost normal talking together hadn't been all that bad, awkward, but not bad. For a moment, Harry had fooled himself to actually getting along with the other. Shaking his head and reprimanding himself, harry shuffled over to his room. 

He knew it was going to be a long week.

So, it was to no one's surprise when Harry didn't stop in his unhealthy habits. Malfoy stayed in his room and only came out for classes or meals, opting to making something before eating alone on his bed. Harry was fine with that; the flat was more than comfortable for him. There was a nice fireplace and comfortably worn chairs in front of it. It was nice to stay up late doing whatever, like his homework before curling up with one of his books. Sometimes he wrote letters to Serious, grateful for Hedwig's brief companionship. It wasn't exactly lonely, but the knowledge that there was someone there but chose to never interact made his chest feel strangely heavy.

Harry quietly chopped tomatoes around midnight, the only sound was his quiet humming and the clock ticking in the other room. 

Around five or six years old, he'd been forced to learn how to man the stove all by himself. He oversaw breakfast and sometimes dinner when Aunt Petunia impulsively decided to disinfect the entire upstairs. He didn't mind too much, cooking could be rather fun. It was nice to look down at something you worked so hard on and have it turn out well, even if he never was recognized for the time and energy he put into his cousin and Uncle's meals. 

Muttering measurements to himself, Harry washed the lettuce for his salad. 

When he'd first started, his arms were littered with bruises and burns while his fingers were constantly covered in bandages he'd gotten from the school nurse. (Of course, he never told her the real reason he needed so many. He was perfectly fine without the entire school's staff knowing about his home life.) Soon, the sizzle of a finger against the edge of a pan was merely an inconvenience for him rather than something to cry over. He'd learn the hard way that tears were a one-way ticket to a few cold nights without supper in his cupboard. 

He sucked in a sharp breath as a bead of blood pooled on the tip of his finger he'd grazed with the knife. He stuck it in his mouth and continued to make his food with one hand. 

Harry didn't know what a real family was like until he came to the Weasleys. It was quite obvious with the way he openly stared at the Weasley twins wrestle Ron to the ground without inflicting true pain. Without  _aiming_ to hurt. The way he became skittish when Mrs. Weasley shouted crossly at the twins or Ron when they misbehaved but everything was forgiven by dinner and Harry didn't know how he felt about the new dynamic he was witnessing. No one every commented on the fact that it took a week of staying at the Burrow for him to stop flinching at wide gestures. He tried to hide it, so they wouldn't ask questions, but it was glaringly obvious how his relatives treated him. Harry once heard Mrs. Weasley worriedly ranting to her husband on how she wanted to take Harry from the Dursley's home, how she wanted to take him in. The sentiment was nice and gave him a rather warm feeling in his chest, but he knew he had to stay at the Dursley's. He could just imagine the look on his relatives faces if he told them he was going to live with wizards and they  _knew_ he was going to far away and  _happy._  

Harry didn't recognize how dizzy he was until he opened up a book in his lap.  _Maybe just a chapter tonight..._ he thought before promptly passing out,

~

The air in his lungs burst out roughly as he crouch in darkness, eyes wide and heart racing. 

Harry remembered how in awe he was of Ron's room. He'd heard his friend complain about the size and sheepishly scratch the back of his head when he showed Harry the interior with it's slanted ceiling and single small window. Harry had beamed, because Ron's room was so big compared to his! He was glad that his friend didn't have to be cramped every night, didn't have to lay in uninterrupted darkness all the time. Ron's ears had turn bright pink and he'd abruptly turned away to fiddle with Scabber's cage. The Burrow was the biggest house Harry'd ever seen and he loved every last inch.

He was suffocating. He had to be, there was no other reason why he couldn't get enough oxygen into his lungs. He couldn't see and he couldn't move, nothing was working and he wanted to scream.  _I don't belong in here! I promise I'll be good!_ He almost sobbed, but clamped a hand over his mouth.

The fear was the worst part. Not the screaming and not the insults, but the fear right before the punishment. The way his heart slammed against his ribs and his palms anxiously sweat. He could cower and run, but he had no where to go. Uncle Vernon would find him and he'd be in trouble. Simple as that. The terror building in his chest as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong before someone saw. The panic filling his every sense as he heard the heavy footfalls coming closer. The tears that he refused to let fall as he frantically came up with an excuse to tell so maybe soften the blow. It was all so much worse than being hit round the head, which usually happened right after the crushing fear. 

"Potter?" He flinched and scooted back, the footsteps of his Aunt to scream at him for making too much noise again made him shake more than he already was. The sudden light of the door opening blinded him and made a scream rip from his chest against his will. "Merlin, Potter! What's gotten into you?" 

Panting, a hand clamped over his mouth, Harry looked up with watery eyes at a blond blur. He blinked, the memories that'd assaulted him cleared away and he realized that he was in Hogwarts in the  _here and now_. He wasn't at Private Drive, in the  _there and then._

"M-Malfoy." he mumbled, head swimming but his spirit feeling lighter. Without thinking, he reached out a hand to pull himself out of the laundry cupboard he'd accidentally fallen into and attempted to pull himself to his feet. 

"How long have you been in there?" Harry's vision was too shaky for him to make out the Slytherin's face, but he could hear that there was something slightly off about his voice. Harry shrugged and rubbed away a tear as he swayed dangerously on the spot. The abrupt surfacing from his head had cleared his mind of the awful emotions that'd been crushing him a moment before. He felt better, somehow. Being pulled from the dark made him feel so much better and he realized that he could  _feel._ Looking up with a shaky smile, Harry sobbed out a laugh.

"Thank you." he said. He hadn't seen Malfoy much since they'd started living together but he'd showed up when Harry was at his lowest. Without meaning to, the blond had done something no one else had been able to do. He'd saved him temporarily from his demons. No doubt he'd fall back into an abyss of confusion, of wondering if he truly was in Hogwarts, safe, or if he was still trapped in that dark place. "Thank you." he whispered again.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry sat on the couch as he listened to Malfoy’s soft footsteps in the kitchen.  

Arms wrapped around himself, Harry was taking deep breaths. After his outburst, he’d dragged himself out of the dark while Malfoy watched with an unreadable expression. Tugging him into the living room, Malfoy shoved Harry onto the cushions before turning to leave. Sighing, he rested his head in his hands.  

He didn’t want to sit there, quiet and alone, while he waited for Malfoy to return. He would no doubt hold this against him, wouldn’t he? Malfoy hated his guts. Feeling miserable and vaguely sick, Harry hunching into himself.  

He jumped when there was a hesitant touch to his shoulder. Looking up, he made eye contact with Malfoy as he held out a steaming mug. Blinking dumbly, Harry shakily accepted the warm tea. Mumbling a thanks, Harry eagerly took a sip. He automatically relaxed, the scent and taste of tea always put him to sleep.  

“I want you to tell me what the hell that was about, Potter.” Harry flinched, quickly averting his eyes. “Potter,” he tried again, voice softer. “I found you sitting alone in a laundry closet, crying. I think some explanation is needed.” The tea seeming less appealing by the minute, Harry quickly shook his head and set his drink down. He curled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them.  

It was quiet for a long time, Harry rocking back and forth with his forehead pressed to his knees while Malfoy sat by his side. Harry thought he’d left, surprised to open his eyes to see the other boy watching him with a pensive expression.  

Harry doubted Malfoy would care about Harry’s pathetic upbringing, about the days spent in a sweaty haze of nightmares and darkness. Like a constant sickness that refused to let him recover, shoving memories and feelings on him when he least expected it. Staying up late, disregarding his health, it was a defense mechanism. He couldn’t sleep when all he saw was black and he couldn’t eat when all he could taste was fear.  

Malfoy turned away, a frown on his face. Harry was waiting for it to come, for him to storm away and go back to ignoring him or to get a rise out of him. Harry wasn’t expecting Malfoy to summon a large blanket from the back of an armchair and to reheat Harry’s tea with a flick of his wrist.  

“You’re going to sleep, right here and right now.” Harry recoiled like he had slapped him, staring at Malfoy like he’d gone mad. He didn’t seem to notice because he was unfolding the blanket and pushing a pillow towards Harry. He opened his mouth to protest and tell him he was  _ not,  _ but Malfoy seemed to have none of that. “Potter, I will stun you if that’s what it takes to make you sleep.” Harry scowled, his chin jutting out stubbornly. Being stunned wouldn’t induce real sleep, but Malfoy didn’t seem to care. Harry sucked in a long breath, ready to defend himself because he was not about to be put down for a nap by  _ Malfoy.  _

Harry glared up at the ceiling, wrapped up in a blanket with his tea cupped in his hands.  

“Need me to tuck you in?” Harry tried to glare and give a nasty retort, he really did, but his eyelids were so heavy and the warm tea in his belly made him so tired. He closed his eyes for only a moment.  

He was suffocating in the dark. 

They were screaming at him.  

A cold, cold corridor stretched out ahead of him. 

Harry’s eyes flew open, and he sat up with a strangled gasp, body shaking uncontrollably. There was a gasp and a dull thud before cool hands gripped his forearms, Harry couldn’t focus on that. He was desperately trying to pull air into his lungs;  his legs tangled in the blanket and wrapping around his neck in a choking hold.  

When he finally calmed down some, still shaking and panting, he realized tears were blurring his vision and he felt humiliation prickle along his spine.  

“What in Merlin’s name was that?” Malfoy demanded. He looked slightly paler than usual, a book sprawled across the floor like he’d dropped it quickly.  

Harry roughly wiped his eyes, refusing to give Malfoy the satisfaction of seeing him crying like a baby. When he gave no answer, Malfoy made a frustrated noise, and the blanket was being pulled off him.  

Harry flinched away on instinct.  

He was in bed, tightly snuggled in his favorite blanket, (the one with the least holes) when a hand yanked it off him and sent him tumbling to the floor with a fearful shout. Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice screamed at him for sleeping in, telling him he had to make breakfast before Dudley was awake. Her claw-like hands grabbed him by the collar of the shirt and jerked him to his feet before chasing him into the kitchen, squawking at him to hurry.  

It wasn’t the first time.  

Harry wouldn’t admit to the wounded whimper he let out. Malfoy backed off almost immediately, face pinched in confusion. Harry looked away, hunching into himself and closing his eyes. He was embarrassed, shaky and exhausted. The constant headache he always had seemed to be better and his eyes were less sore. 

“Just l-leave me alone.” Harry choked out, trying to make his voice sound firmer than it was. But the other boy didn’t move, instead they sat there in silence while discomfort danced across Harry’s skin. 

Licking dry lips, the rusty taste of blood bloomed across his tongue and he realized he must have bitten it in his sleep. Just when everything became too loud, Malfoy gently rested a hand on Harry’s shoulder and pushed him into a lying position. Harry didn’t protest, instead he let himself fall back. 

His thoughts were too loud to fight. 

Eyes still shut, Harry felt empty. He wanted to lie down and sink into the cushions; he wanted to pull the blanket over his head and fade into the warm cocoon. He couldn’t handle this anymore. He didn’t want to.  

Malfoy grabbed him under the armpits like a child and maneuvered himself under Harry, placing the Gryffindor onto his chest. 

Harry jerked away, eyes flying open as he stared down at Malfoy incredulously. His face was carefully impassive, but two spots of color glowed on his cheekbones. 

“Shove it, Potter.” He grumbled with no real heat. Slowly, like he was afraid of startling a skittish animal, Malfoy dragged the blanket over them both and laid his arms stiffly by his sides. 

Harry didn’t settle, still staring at him in shock. Then, equally hesitant, he lowered himself until his head was resting just under the other’s chin.

Warm and tired. 

Harry’s eyes drooped, and he yawned softly, curling up unconsciously. He barely registered the slight hitch in Malfoy’s breathing and the uneven thump under his ear. Instead, the voice calling for him from the land of reading and late nights shut up for once. 

Quiet breathing, soft hands touching his back…

And Harry slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im not sorry


End file.
